Only Two
by printandpolish
Summary: Darry and Ponyboy receive some terrible news. No longer a oneshot.
1. Chapter 1

_This just came into my head. I'm not sure if it's a one-shot or not. Hope you like it. I don't own the Outsiders, I'm doing this for fun, not profit. _

**Only two**

I paused at the corner of the street to light a cancer stick. Still can't quit, though I'm down to two a day, one in the morning to wake me up and one after practice. I waited as long as I could for that second butt of the day.

I leaned back against the street light to exhale a long plume of smoke. I could just see our house. Darry's truck was there already; the weather had been cloudy and rainy most of the day, so he must have gotten off work early. He thought I'd quit completely, so I waited to finish my smoke before heading the rest of the way home. I wondered idly what he was making for dinner and if I could finish my homework before "Get Smart" came on.

A car drove slowly past me, as if the driver was either lost or looking for someone. It was long and dark and looked expensive, far too expensive to be anyone who lived in this neighborhood. _Socs_, I thought automatically, crushing my cigarette under my shoe. There hadn't been much trouble, not for months now, but I wasn't taking any chances. I let out a long, low whistle to warn anyone who might be around and started for the house. Darry opened our door just as the car pulled up in front and the engine stopped. Two men got out, one a uniformed Army officer and the other the minister from Mom and Dad's old church.

For a moment, the world swam before my eyes and I had to grab the neighbor's fence to keep from falling over. "Darry?" I called, and then, realizing he was too far away to hear me, pitched my voice to a shout. "Darry!" The yell had a desperate, hysterical edge to it.

He didn't hear me. He held the door open for the men and followed them into our house.

I sprinted. By the time I got inside, Darry was on his knees, hyperventilating. The minister was crouched in front of him with one hand on his shoulder, and I knew he'd just gone down when they told him. I didn't trust my balance, either. I knelt beside him and without any hesitation he turned to me and hugged me hard, so hard I lost my breath, but it didn't matter. I hugged him back, leaning my forehead onto his shoulder, already crying.

"Ponyboy."

"Don't say it," I whispered.

His fingers clutched fistfuls of my shirt. "Soda's gone," he said, his voice thick. "He ain't coming home."

"No. NO." But I knew it was true; hadn't I known the minute I saw that rich car in our poor neighborhood?

After a moment, Darry let me go, but we stayed there, kneeling together on the floor, like we were praying.

"How did it happen?" I asked.

The lieutenant looked at Darry, and when he didn't answer me, said, "They were ambushed. His buddy, Private Randle, went down, and Private Curtis went back to get him."

"And Steve?" I forced myself to ask.

Darry met my eyes. "He's all right," he said shortly. "Military hospital."

We stared at each other, then broke away, ashamed to see we were thinking the same thing: _Why couldn't it have been the other way around?_

"Your brother was a brave man," the lieutenant said. "He probably saved his buddy's life. The United States of America and President Nixon appreciate his sacrifice. You should be very proud of him."

Darry stood, pulling me up with him, and faced the man. "Should we," he said flatly. He strode to the door and pulled it open, clearly wanting the two men to leave. His eyes had gone cold and his tone was stern. I had seen him look that way once before, the night our parents were killed, when he asked the Oklahoma State Police to let us be. He had been standing in almost the same spot, but that night, almost three years ago now, I'd been sitting behind him, on the sofa, crying in Sodapop's arms.

_Sodapop. Oh my God. _

"Son, if you need anything, either of you --"

Darry didn't answer. The minister turned to me and I looked away. A moment later, in the awkward silence, the two men left. They got into their black car and drove away as if they hadn't just ruined what was left of our family.

I sat down heavily in the armchair, not even aware that tears were running down my face. Darry went into the bathroom and threw up.

* * *

When Soda received his draft notice six months before, I had been almost paralyzed with fear. Soda, however, handled the ominous letter just fine because he was sure he could get out of it. He ruffled my hair and said cheerfully, "You're going to be my own college deferment" and headed down to explain to the draft board he had a little brother he was responsible for.

We had all talked, when Soda turned 18, of going down to the courthouse and filing paperwork that would make Darry and Soda my co-guardians, instead of having it all fall on our oldest brother. But it wasn't a priority and they never got around to it, so, legally, I was Darry's responsibility, not Sodapop's. Darry tried to argue that losing Soda's income would be bad for our family. The Army said they intended to pay him, he could send money home, and he was expected to report to Fort Benning in Georgia the following week.

Soda went from the draft board to the DX station, where he'd worked for three years, and quit. He bought a huge bouquet of daisies – my mother's favorite -- and left them on our parents' grave. Then my brother, who never so much as drank a beer before a rumble, came home with a fifth of cheap whiskey, sat at the kitchen table, and drank the whole thing. Darry and I sat next to him and listened as the liquor loosened his tongue and he talked about Mom and Dad, his lost horse, Mickey Mouse, Sandy, Johnny and Dallas, and leaving us. His eyes grew wet and his voice grew slurred and hoarse, but we didn't try to stop him. We sat with him as he finished that bottle and stumbled off to bed.

That night, I had a nightmare for the first time in almost two years, since Johnny and Dally had died.

The day he left, he was his happy-go-lucky self, sure he wouldn't be gone for very long. I tried desperately to feel some of his confidence.

"Y'all take care, now," he said, as he boarded the bus.

Darry gave him a quick squeeze, but I hadn't dared hug him, sure we'd both end up bawling messes. "Just come back," I said hoarsely, running my fingers briefly over his arm.

"'Course I will. See the sights, kill some gooks, back before you know it." And he flashed me his famous grin as the bus doors closed behind him. We'd stayed there, Darry and me, until the bus was well out of sight. Steve followed four weeks later and we were glad to hear they'd ended up in the same unit.

But now there was nothing to be glad about at all.

* * *

It was an evening of déjà vu. Darry made phone calls – Two-Bit, Mrs. Randle, Gus down at the DX – and began tracking down when Soda's body would be flown home and what needed to be arranged. I went into my bedroom and lay down on Soda's side of the bed, wrapping myself around his pillow, trying to think of nothing.

I woke much later to a noise, a quiet keening that grew steadily louder until finally I opened my eyes. It was coming from me. The pillow was soaked and I was shaking so badly the bedsprings were rattling. I clung to the edge of the mattress and tried to catch my breath. The bed dipped behind me and a moment later I felt Darry's strong arm around my chest, holding me just like Soda had, after Mom and Dad died, when the dreams got too bad. I put my hand over his. We didn't move. We didn't speak. We stayed there, together, only the two of us, until the sun came up in a world without our middle brother.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the kind reviews. I did intend this to be a one-shot but, apparently, Pony has more to say. I don't own the Outsiders. And I wish Soda hadn't died. Also, some of the details in this chapter are my educated guesses, not necessarily the way the military would handle returning a soldier's body to his family._

**Chapter 2**

I must have fallen asleep after sunrise, because when I woke up, Darry was gone and I could smell coffee. It was almost 8 a.m. – I was glad he'd let me sleep in, because there was no way I was going to school.

When Soda first left, for the first few weeks, I'd woken up thinking he'd just gotten up first. I had become used to Soda being away, but now, it felt different already. The hope he'd come back safely was gone.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and went bare-chested into the kitchen. Darry was sitting at the table. When he saw me, he got up and poured me a glass of chocolate milk.

"Thanks."

"Sure."

I took a long swallow. My throat ached and my whole face felt puffy. Darry looked like I felt, though after his initial breakdown on the living room floor, I hadn't seen him shed a tear.

"I was going to ask you how you feel, but I reckon that's a stupid question," Darry said.

"Yeah. I reckon so."

He sat down across from me. "Do you want to come to the airport with me?" he asked. "The flight's coming in at 10:30. The hearse will be there, too, but I thought … I don't know, I thought I should go. I suppose it sounds stupid, but I didn't want his body to land alone."

"No, it doesn't sound stupid." His body. I shuddered. No, his remains. That was better. The part that made him Sodapop was gone. What remained was coming back.

I didn't want to go. But I was 16 now. When Soda was my age, he was holding down a full-time job to help keep me in school. And Darry shouldn't have to do this alone. I'd made that mistake once, letting him shoulder all the hard things by himself, completely forgetting that he'd been orphaned too. "Um … yeah. Yeah, I'll go with you."

"Pony, we have a decision to make," Darry said. His voice was soft but serious. "The military will pay for Soda's funeral. I thought we'd use Varole's Funeral Home, where Mom and Dad were, but we have to decide where to bury him. We can have him in the Veterans' Cemetery, either at Fort Gibson or in Arlington, or here with Mom and Dad."

"Fort Gibson is an hour away," I protested. "And isn't Arlington near Washington?" Darry was silent. "Can't we have him here? I want him here. God almighty, Darry, it's bad enough he died a world away all alone, I want him here with us." My voice hitched; I was almost shouting.

"That's fine," Darry said, in the same soft serious voice. "That's what I want, too. I just wanted to check with you."

"Well, there was your stupid question," I snapped. I bit my lower lip. I could feel it quivering. Darry reached across the table but I got up before he could touch me. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Fine. We need to leave by 9:30."

My vision was dangerously blurry and as I tried to get to the bathroom, I stumbled into the kitchen chair. Darry caught my arm before I could fall, and as soon as he made contact, I started bawling again.

"Sit," Darry said, pushing me back down.

I hid my face in my hands. I couldn't stop the tears. "I'm sorry," I mumbled.

Darry squeezed my shoulder. "No need to be," he said steadily.

I suddenly remembered the last time I saw him cry before yesterday, after the fire that ended up killing our buddy Johnny Cade, and what he had said: I thought we'd lost you, like we did Mom and Dad. I remember thinking that I finally understood his great fear was to lose someone else he loved.

And now he had. We both had. I laid my head on the table and stopped pretending I had any control at all.

* * *

The plane landed right on time. We were allowed out on the tarmac with the lieutenant from the night before, a couple of other military folks, and the hearse and the funeral director. I remembered Mr. Varole from when Mom and Dad died. Soda's coffin was the first thing out, covered in an American flag. Two of the Army officers marched smartly to it, saluted, then escorted it to the hearse. I wanted to reach out and touch it, but I couldn't move. I felt Darry stiffen up beside me.

After putting the coffin in the hearse, the men marched over to us. One of them handed Darry a manila envelope and saluted us before walking away. Though the sounds of airplanes rushed overhead, it seemed very quiet.

We were pulling out of the parking lot before I asked, "What's in the envelope?"

"Soda's things."

"That's all?" I asked. "Just that?"

Darry shrugged. "They were on the move. There must be a duffle bag or something somewhere, I suppose, but this was on his – this was on him."

That made sense, I suppose – most of his things were still in our room. My room.

Two-Bit was coming out our front door as we pulled up. He hovered on the porch awkwardly, then said, "I left you a casserole from Ma. And we picked up, me and Katie. Ma let her stay out today." Two-Bit's little sister Kathleen wasn't so little anymore; she was a freshman in high school this year. Two-Bit had finally formally abandoned school and worked odd jobs – sometimes for Darry's boss – for extra cash. "Ma thought it'd be a good idea in case y'all had people here after – well, after." The sunlight was glinting off his eyes. "I'll see ya later," he said abruptly. "Y'all call if you need something."

He was gone, almost sprinting down the street, before Darry or I could react.

We opened the door and the smell of bleach assaulted us. Clean? Lord. Two-Bit and Katie had sterilized the place. Two-Bit, who wouldn't lift a finger to help his mother in his own house. I felt my throat get tight.

Darry sat on the couch and looked at me expectantly. I sat next to him and he tipped the contents of the manila envelope onto the coffee table. Soda's dogtags clattered off the edge and onto the floor. I picked them up and without a second thought slipped them around my neck.

"Can I have these?" I thought to ask a minute later.

"'Course you can."

The pile was heartbreakingly small. His military ID was in a separate plastic folder. He looked damn funny with short hair. There was a small pad of paper, some airmail envelopes and a pencil stub. There was his old wallet, tattered, with four American dollars and some currency I'd never seen before. The only other things inside were his driver's license and three pictures -- my school photo from junior year, Darry's senior portrait and a shot from Mom and Dad's wedding. They looked impossibly young. They had both been younger than Darry, at 22, was now.

There was also a small gold cross that I recognized immediately as having belonged to Mom. It was the only real piece of jewelry, save her wedding ring, that she had owned.

"Did you know he had that?" I asked.

"No. I've been lookin' for it," Darry said. A small smile crept across his face. "I kept meaning to ask Tim Shepard if he lifted it to hock. I was ready to bust his skull."

The last item was a letter, dirty and stained, addressed to us, dated two weeks before. Apparently, he'd never gotten a chance to mail it.

_4 Sept 69_

_Dear Darry and Ponyboy:_

_We are someplace I'm not allowed to say but I'm OK. Steve is too. We can hear gunfire most of the time. It's scary but I'm OK. We have a mision to do and we will move back to base when its done._

_There's some guys in the unit who want to join for another tour. They think it's some noble fight. It's like a damn rumble gone wrong. Nothing makes any sense. Some other guys joined up themselfs, can you dig it? Me either. I'd give anything to be back at the DX pumping gas and looking at the chicks and the tuff cars. Making blue pototoes for you dummies, too. I'm countin the days._

_It might be I'll have R&R in December. Home for Christmas, maybe. That would sure be nice._

_Steve says hi. Say hey to Two-Bit. That slob still in high school?_

_I miss you._

_Your brother, PFC Sodapop P. Curtis_

_I miss you, too_, I thought. _I will miss you every day, forever._

Darry smiled. "He couldn't spell worth a damn," he said fondly.

"Nope, he sure couldn't," I said. All I could think was it had taken us less than 24 hours to start speaking of him in the past tense.


	3. Chapter 3

_You know, I wish my original pieces haunted me this badly. And I can't decide if this is the end or not. Input welcome. _

**Chapter 3**

By mid-afternoon, I was antsy and irritable, and so I turned to what always worked: I went for a run. Only six blocks into it, my mind stopped racing. I measured my breath to match my feet and I started to feel a little calmer. Soda's dogtags bounced beneath my t-shirt, and it was a comfort to me, having a piece of him so close.

Forty minutes later, I jogged up our porch steps, stopping at the top to stretch out. I was touching my toes when I heard a car door slam, and I looked up through my hair to see who it was.

Evelyn Randle, Steve's mother. She held a grocery sack in her arms. "Ponyboy, I picked up some things for you and Darrel," she said, walking slowly toward the steps.

I straightened up and met her at the bottom, taking the bag. "Thank you," I said. When Mom and Dad died, I remembered, the ladies in the neighborhood had fed us for a month, and none of them could afford extra meals for three young men. It had a good heart, our neighborhood, even if it was poor and sometimes violent.

"I'm so sorry about Sodapop," she said. "He was a wonderful boy. The Army man said he saved my Stevie's life. They sent him to Saigon. They may be sending him home in a few weeks, dependin' on how he heals up."

"Yes, ma'am," I muttered.

There was no way I could stand here and talk to her about this, no way at all. Her son was "healing up." My brother was dead. I didn't want to be rude – I knew she was trying to be nice. The Randles were an odd bunch. I had never liked Steve that much, but he didn't deserve the way his father beat on him. I also never understood why Mrs. Randle stood by and let it happen. Taking peanut butter and apples from her seemed somehow wrong, like it was a payment for Soda's life, almost, but there was no way to get out of it gracefully.

"I'll tell Darry you stopped by," I said finally, and walked into the house, leaving her standing on the sidewalk. A moment later, I heard the car pull away.

Darry was stretched out on the couch, sound asleep. I suspected it was the first he'd slept since we'd heard the news. I tiptoed into the kitchen and unpacked the bag, taking note of what was in it and silently vowing not to touch any of it.

The phone rang, sounding jarring in the silence. I leaped for it, hoping it wouldn't wake my brother.

"Hello?" I practically whispered.

"Hey," Cathy said. "Where were you today? You sound funny. Are you sick?"

Cathy. Oh, my God, I forgot about Cathy. What kind of idiot forgets to call his girlfriend to tell her his brother was dead?

"Hi," I said. My voice sounded strained, even to myself.

"Pony? What's wrong?"

The sound of her voice made me want to start crying again. "Nothing – um – well, that's not true. I'm not sick. But something happened. Can you come over?"

"I'm at the Dingo. Can you come here?"

I glanced at Darry. I was reluctant to leave him alone, but he was out for the count. "I went running," I said. "I'm all gross. Can you wait until I shower?"

"Run over here," she said. "I have to be home in an hour. I'll kiss you even if you're sweaty."

Cathy Carlson and I had been dating since school got out last June. We'd been going along pretty slowly – she was my first real girlfriend and she'd come out of a bad relationship right before meeting me. She had a million little brothers and sisters that were always annoying us, but I honestly didn't mind them so much. I generally like little kids. Soda always said I'd grow into liking girls, and I had, but I wondered sometimes if I was actually boyfriend material.

I scribbled Darry a note and jogged down to the Dingo. Cathy was waiting outside with two Cokes. She kissed me quickly and handed one to me. I downed it gratefully.

"What happened?" she asked softly, her eyes searching my face, worried. "Why weren't you in school?"

It occurred to me I hadn't said it out loud to anyone and I found I couldn't speak.

Cathy hugged me, ignoring the fact that I was all sweaty and probably smelled like a swamp. Soda's dogtags pressed into her breast, and she pulled back. Her eyes widened as she put her hand to my neck, found the chain, and pulled them clear of my shirt to see what they were.

"Why do you have these?" she asked, tears forming in her eyes.

All I could do was shake my head.

* * *

The visiting hours we held for Sodapop were busy the whole time. There were a lot of girls. He would have liked that. Two-Bit, Katie and Mrs. Mathews were the first ones in the door and they stayed the whole two hours, sitting in the back. Mrs. Mathews kept looking toward us and shaking her head sadly. Cathy and her parents came. The Carlsons left her there with us, a gesture I will be forever grateful for. I stood next to Darry and shook hands and accepted hugs, and Cathy sat quietly in the front row.

The Randles showed up. I couldn't even look at Mr. Randle. It made me feel little and small, but the sight of him infuriated me. I wanted to punch him. He didn't love Steve – or at least he never acted like he did -- but yet, he still had him. I loved Soda more than I've ever loved anyone and he was gone.

"Ponyboy." Gus, Soda and Steve's boss from the DX, looking absurd in a jacket and tie, touched my elbow. "Sandy's outside – Sandy Hinton? She didn't know if she should come in."

I looked at Darry. He shrugged, and Gus went outside to fetch her.

I hadn't seen Sandy since she had ditched Soda and gone to Florida two years before. He'd tried to get back with her, but all her letters came back unopened. She'd gained a little weight, but she was still pretty, and her tear-stained eyes were still that startling china blue.

She had Soda's obituary, clipped from the paper, clutched in one hand. "Glory, I almost fell over when I read this," she said, hugging me, then Darry. "I can't believe it."

"You been back in Tulsa long?" Darry asked. I noticed he hadn't hugged her back.

"Last Christmas," Sandy said, almost meekly. "I came for the holiday and stayed."

"Why, you should have come by," Darry said pointedly. "Soda didn't leave until the middle of February."

Sandy turned pleadingly to me. "I know you probably hate me," she said, "but I really did love him. And I really am sorry."

Darry's eyes were on fire.

"I know you are," I said, "but I think it's best if you go."

Twenty minutes later, badly needing some air, I walked outside. If one more person told me Soda was with Mom and Dad, I was afraid I'd either bite their heads off or start sobbing uncontrollably. I hoped he was. I thought he was. But none of them were here, and the thought that they were together in Heaven didn't make it all right. Cathy followed me out and we stood on the porch of the funeral home, holding hands, looking at the stars.

I was also itching to throw those military people the hell out of there. A few of them had shown up and one stood by Soda's flag-covered coffin, at attention, as if he was guarding it. It was a nice thought, I suppose, but he didn't belong there. Vietnam had not been Soda's war. He hadn't gone because he was patriotic or passionate or even brave. He'd gone because he had to.

When the wake was finally over, we declined offers of dinner – or, in Two-Bit's case, beer – and went home. Even though it was barely nine o'clock, we both went to bed and fell asleep almost immediately. When the dreams woke me up at 4 a.m., I stumbled into the kitchen to find Darry sitting at the table, and I joined him until it was late enough to get ready for the funeral.

The service was at the cemetery, simple and private – it was just us, Cathy, the Mathews, Gus and some of our neighbors, who had known Sodapop his whole life. Years later, I found out Darry had had a hell of a fight with the Army. They'd wanted a 21-gun salute and all kinds of pomp and circumstance befitting a soldier killed in action. Darry put his foot down and refused, and told them if the Army wanted to send a representative, that was fine, but it was not going to be a circus. We wanted to lay him to rest quietly, sent off by people who knew and loved him, not have his funeral be some excuse for the politicians and the military to talk about the necessity of the war.

So that's what we did. Darry and I buried our middle brother on a beautiful fall day in September of 1969. In another two weeks, Soda would have turned 19. He had 143 days before his tour of duty was over. He wasn't the only one who had been counting. We laid him next to Mom and Dad. I stood between Darry and Cathy and held both their hands and cried. I didn't care who saw or what people thought. I wasn't ashamed. The only thing I felt was empty, and I realized that this loss was worse than any of the others, worse than Johnny and Dallas, even worse than Mom and Dad. When an Army sergeant presented Darry with the flag from Soda's coffin, Darry set his jaw and refused to look at him. Katie Mathews finally stepped forward and took it for us.

Darry and I were the last ones to leave. We let everyone else trickle away and walked slowly across the manicured grounds, stopping where our grandparents were, and Dally, and finally Johnny Cade, who'd been my best friend. As we were walking out of the cemetery, I heard a clanging noise, and when I looked back, I saw two cemetery workers filling in Soda's grave. I stopped, stunned. But what had I expected?

Darry's hand was comforting and secure on my back. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's go home now."

I nodded dumbly. It suddenly hit me. Now we were only two.


End file.
